


Wish for the Rain

by KieraVenic



Series: The Halla and the Crow [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fluff, Love for rain, M/M, Rain, Romance, Storms, Tender - Freeform, euphoria, playful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3655566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KieraVenic/pseuds/KieraVenic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever he had cursed the rain, raised in the warmth and the sun. The rain was best left for dark and morbid thoughts. And yet this fey creature did not shy from the storm, but instead embraced it. The rise of the wind brought laughter, the fall of rain tracing a smile, feet splashing water with every kicking step. Perhaps the rain was meant for more than melancholy. As the storm rose from within and without he found himself already eagerly awaiting for the day when it would rain again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wish for the Rain

The day had been perhaps one of their most singularly miserable days. That was, if one pretended that their excursion into the Deep Roads had never occurred. Zevran liked to think that he was appreciative of all body types and women’s breasts, but that _thing_ … What had Alistair called it? A broodmother? The Assassin shuddered. Far too many breasts and then there were the tentacles, the fat rolls, the _face_. Maker, he did not want to remember that thing’s face.

His expression crinkled. He could happily live the rest of his, possibly very short, life without seeing another of those things again. What curiosity he had about what female Darkspawn looked like had been dashed, chopped into fine pieces, burned, and the ashes scattered to the winds.

Today had been less disturbing, at least. The rogue flipped up the hood of his oiled leather cloak. It should have been a sign when they awoke to overcast skies that it was going to be a wretched day. Instead there had been some excitement at the idea of relief from the growing heat of the sun as spring began to wane into summer. But, where they had felt the cloudy day would make for comfortable travelling, apparently the local bandits felt it made for good thieving. With a total of six attacks, today had topped their list for largest number of bandit packs. Alistair had lost the bet on that one and now owed both Zevran and Oghren a few drinks.

But the bandits were not the only ones out in force. Darkspawn and wildlife had decided to make their displeasure with the travelers known. Bears were singularly unpleasant creatures now, in Zevran’s mind. By the time it started to drizzle, Warden Mahariel had sighed and called an early quits for the day. They had barely gone more than a handful of leagues by the time the rain started. The drizzle had turned to downpour before they had finished setting up their tents. No one was sure if it was even far past noon at that point, but not even Sten bemoaned the early halt.

Stepping out into the rain, Zevran sighed at the squelch of mud around his boots. Filth was expected when one was an ‘adventurer’ and on the road, but it did not mean he enjoyed dirtying his leather, particularly his boots. More so, the doe skin boots had been gifted to him by the Warden, the last pair of Antivan boots he would likely see for quite some time. Pity. He would need to diligently wipe them down before the mud dried and then brush them once they had time to air out. The others teased him about the liberal amount of oils, cloths, and other treatments he kept for his leather, but they could hardly be ones to talk.

Leliana kept meticulous care of her casual clothing, Wynne had a bag full of yarn, Alistair kept oils and cloths for his own armor and sword, and even Oghren kept stones for fastidiously sharpening his axes. However, Zevran would never hesitate to admit he enjoyed watching their Dalish Warden has he plucked the birds he would catch of their dinner. Each feather was carefully tended and then shaped to fletch his arrows with.

Speaking of their pointy eared Warden, it was about time for Zevran to relieve the Dalish from scouting/guard duty. A little early to relieve the other, Zevran was content to use the time to commune with the other Elf. His lips curled in anticipation.

It had been some many weeks, months now he supposed, since the pair had first slept together. More and more often he found himself seeking out Ellion’s company. Most peculiarly, he found that often times he sought out the other to simply be near him and not for more pleasurable reasons. He tried not to think about that that meant.

_You walk a dangerous line. If you show interest they will hunt him, kill him, just like Ri—_

The thoughts were sharply cut off. His smile was long since gone, traded for a scowl as he sent a stone skittering away with a harsh kick. Damn the Crows and everything they stood for.

Lost in his thoughts, he was unaware of when he had stumbled upon the Warden. It was a soft laugh that drew him from dark thoughts. Startled, he jerked to a stop. His scowl deepened. Losing focus was deadly. With as much trouble as they had had this day, it was not smart to let his attention wander. Yet, it seemed that he was not the only one.

Initially, Zevran had assumed that the soft laughter was meant for him; amusement at his distracted state. When he spotted Ellion, however, the other Elf was focused elsewhere.

Eyes to the sky, Ellion had perched himself on a particularly large rock. The stone was ancient; its sharper edges worn with time and the uneven surfaces covered in moss and lichen. Exposed toes periodically flexed, curling against the thick and springy moss. Zevran had yet to figure out the benefits to the Dalish’s habit of wearing shoes without toes or heels.

Still, the other appeared perfectly content, almost giddy. Blonde hair dripped, soaked and sticking to his skin as Ellion had apparently forgone his cloak. The golden strands stuck to his cheeks, curling and looping as though mimicking the green antler vallaslin on his forehead. Crouched, Ellion rested with his arms between his legs, his fingertips just brushing against the stone to hold his balance with his head tipped back. Rain ran in rivets down his skin, tracing the faintest of wrinkles left by an expressive face.

Unblinking, Ellion’s green eyes remained fixed on the forest canopy above them, watching as wet leaves shook under weather’s onslaught of water and wind alike. What started as a smile grew to a grin as the clouds overhead rumbled, telling of worse to come.

Rueful, Zevran shook his head. Why was he unsurprised to find his lover enthralled by the storm? Pulling his cloak a little tighter, Zevran crossed his arms, leaning against a trunk to watch.

The rise of the wind was met with another laugh. The risk of falling was ignored instead to spread his arms. The din of the leaves rose to match the Elf’s laughter as he turned his face into the wind that buffeted him with rain drops. Above the clouds flickered.

Openly giddy, Ellion sprang from the rock. He landed with a splash, uncaring of the swirls of mud that arose in the puddle as he spun, arms wide.

Any frustrations and worries had dissipated without Zevran’s awareness as he watched. Head tipped against the damp bark, he found himself taking back his early hate for the rain. If anything, he hoped that it would linger. Silently, he watched the private moment as the other turned and paced in the rain.

Measured steps were swift and dance-like. Zevran noted the curious way that the other always kept his steps in a line, his hips swaying to accommodate the peculiar stride. Always, Ellion had walked like that, one step in front of the other, and more than ever the assassin wondered why. Periodically the other Elf would still mid-step, head cocked as he listened to the sounds of the forest. Reassured that there was no danger, he returned to welcoming in the storm.

Childlike, Ellion leapt high to smack a hanging branch and burst into a flurry of laughter as he was showered with cold droplets. Twisting in a hard pivot on one foot, he darted across the small area, climbing the rock in two swift steps, and with a whoop, leapt from the top. The distance cleared was impressive, but not quite as much as the sheer amount of water he threw up when he landed in a particularly deep pool of water.

Twisting too suddenly, Ellion lost his balance, slipping and only just catching himself on his fingertips as his hands plunged into the water. His mirth was breathless as he rose, but in an instant it cut off sharply.

Zevran smirked as his eyes met with wide green eyes. Beneath the soaked cloth of Ellion’s clothes, Zevran could make out the exact lines of Ellion’s muscles as his ribs rose and fell heavily in an attempt to catch his breath. Perhaps the damp was not so terrible after all, the Antivan mused.

Smile replaced with shock, Ellion stood frozen, his cheeks darkening in horrified embarrassment. Zevran’s smirk rose into a grin. “Please, do not stop on my account. I was enjoying the show.”

“How long?”

“Long enough to see that lovely dance. By all means, continue.”

Shock faded and Ellion rolled his eyes in effort to hide his amused mortification. He ducked down onto his haunches, uncaring of the water he knelt in and grabbed a sopping handful of leaves. Zevran hardly had time to jerk away from the tree before the clump of rotting foliage was lobbed his way. Mercifully it fell short. His mirth only grew.

“Ahh, the fearsome Warden. I am sure there is a joke somewhere in here about a Dalish—”

“Don’t you dare.”

But Zevran went on cheekily without fear, “—trying to attack me with leaves.”

Yet, despite his threat, Ellion let out a bark of laughter at the tease. Rising up, he brushed away the strands of hair plastered to his face. “Brat,” he snarked back as he moved towards the other rogue.

Mud was splattered up Ellion’s legs, soaking into the darkened cloth and smeared on his woven leather greaves. Ellion’s tunic and his paler sleeveless over tunic were soaked through, sticking to his skin in all of the most glorious ways. Both had started to slip down on the left side. As the Dalish approached, Zevran did nothing to help the matter. Tanned fingers slid the cloth further along the skin, slipping it off his shoulder entirely. Lips followed moments later, pressing feather light kisses along Ellion’s paler collar bone.

“Brat?” Zevran murmured. “I do believe I am some years older than you.”

“And yet you are the insufferable tease,” Ellion chuckled back in turn. His fingers caught Zevran’s chin, drawing him up to slant their lips together.

One pale hand slipped beneath Zevran’s hood, carding damp fingers through his hair. Chilled fingers carefully dug into heated muscles riddled with knots. The Antivan purred his enjoyment into his lover’s mouth; pleased to feel the little massage tricks Ellion had learned from him. He hardly noticed Ellion’s other hand as it slipped up behind his head.

Among the din of rustling leaves, Zevran hardly noticed one more. Intent upon the warm lips moving against his own, it took a second for him to notice the chill that raced along his cheeks or the flutter of his hair as his hood was suddenly jerked off.

Alarmed, he jolted back from Ellion. “What—?”

He heard the sharp jostle of leaves too late. A cold wash over water splattered down onto his head. Icy trails raced along his scalp and poured down his shoulders to slip under his cloak. Soaked, Zevran let out a squawk of alarm and dismay.

Laughing wildly, Ellion hopped back, skipping just out of arms’ reach.

Feeling violated and revolted, Zevran stood with his arms hanging away from him, his jaw open as he mind struggled to process the betrayal. He was cold. He was _wet_. That little weasel had lured him in and tricked him. He would need to spend the next two hours of his watch soaked. Part of him wanted to be proud of the devil that had done this. The other part wanted to shove him in the mud.

Shock turned into a glower, but it did nothing to deter Ellion’s mirth. As Zevran stalked forward the archer danced back always just out of reach.

As the two circled around the tiny forested glade, Zevran’s scowl turned wicked, his lips parting in a bare of teeth. “What’s wrong? Why don’t you stand still and let me embrace you.”

“Oh no, you don’t!” Ellion shook his head, sending rain drops flying. “I know what you’re up to.”

“You wound me! I would never betray you as you’ve done to me, _mi amor._ ”

But Ellion allowed him no closer. Skillfully he wound his way backwards over the moss mixed grass and exposed roots of the forest floor.

“What’s wrong, little halla?” Zevran purred. “You seem so fearful.”

“I know a wolf when I see one.”

The instant Zevran halted, Ellion followed suit. The way Zevran’s feet shifted, the balls of his feet digging in as his balance rolled forward, did not go unnoticed. Ellion’s calves tensed.

“Run, little halla, run.”

In a shot, Ellion was off, but as he ran, his eyes shone with joy, not an ounce of fear. His jaw parted in a laugh as Zevran bolted after him, hot on his heels.

The shorter Elf darted through the trees, weaving and taking the former Crow on quite the chase. In his heart, Zevran knew he would never catch the Dalish, but in truth he did not want to. Instead, the Antivan was content to watch.

Far more fleet of foot, Ellion carefully paced the distance between them, darting ahead and then allowing himself to fall back. He twisted and spun around the trees in a playful display, taunting his lover to keep chase and Zevran was more than willing. Muscles bunched, Ellion easily leapt over fallen logs, debris, and rocks that Zevran found himself having to run around to keep pace. The assassin was swift, but jumping logs had not been part of his training. Most nobles lacked dead trees strewn around their living quarters.

More than once Zevran found himself tripping on an exposed root or slipping on mud. He never hit the ground, always catching himself or turning the fall into a roll that had him immediately back on his feet, but it slowed him regardless. Tauntingly, Ellion would hover near and once the Antivan even found himself slapped in the face with a sopping branch of leaves. With a growl, he picked up his pace.

Still, the shift of muscle and the way the soaked cloth clung to the archer as he ran was worth the trouble. Utterly soaked through, Zevran had no hesitation when Ellion at last slowed enough to allow himself to be caught.

With a yelp, Ellion went down under the Antivan’s tackle. Zevran pinned the other on the bed of moss and leant in to bite his lip hard. Both panted heavily after their little game.

“Well, my halla, it seems your wolf has caught up. You’ve been naughty.”

Beneath him, the other bucked with no real effort to break free; playing into the game. Zevran rolled his hips down, happy to feel his ‘enthusiasm’ returned.

His fingers tightened around the other’s wrists where he held them above Ellion’s head. Leaning in, he kissed, bit, and licked the other’s lips until they were forced to part for air. Panting, Ellion rolled his head in a lazy shake.

“You need to be on watch. I should get back and change so I can get some sleep. Night will fall soon.”

“Soon.”

The sash that kept Ellion’s over tunic shut was undone and the cloth peeled away.

“We’ve run into a lot of trouble today. You should really go on watch now.”

Zevran pressed their lips together to shut the other up. “I will. Soon,” he murmured. The Dalish rolled his eyes.

Cool fingers slipped beneath soaked cloth and ran over stomach muscles that quivered from exertion, cold, and excitement. Desire drove Zevran to tighten his fingers around the other’s waist, pulling their bodies flush together.

“First, I need to warm you up. Far be it from me to be a terrible companion and send my Warden back to camp with a chill.”

He felt the other grin into their next kiss. “We can’t have that, now can we?”

And as the storm fell upon them, from within and without, Zevran found himself already eagerly waiting for the day when it would rain again.


End file.
